Conch Shell Murder

by Dorothy Francis

  “Of course.”

  She heard the sarcasm followed by silence and the hollow hum of the line. “Mr. Parish?”

  “Yes, Miss Hassworth. I’m thinking about your request.”

  Now his voice was smoother and she tried to imagine just how he might look. Tall. Slim. Dark hair. Slender fingers. A bit frail. She recalled the rerun of an old David Niven movie and imagined Tyler Parish as a David Niven type—handsome and sophisticated. She could imagine him and Alexa together, turning heads wherever they went.

  “Mr. Parish, when would it be convenient for you to meet with me?”

  “Look, I’m really snowed under. You’ve called at a very busy time.”

  “Then I’ll call back later on a more convenient day.”

  “No. No. Don’t call me. I’ll call you.”

  “That word package has a familiar ring. Let’s not play games.”

  “I have a one-man show on Thursday night at East Martello. Surely you’ve read about it. I’ll be terribly busy until after that’s over. I’m framing. I’m hanging. I’m still painting on two of the oils. I promise I’ll call you on Friday—Saturday at the latest.”

  “Thank you. That will be fine and I’ll look forward to meeting you.” She replaced the receiver, knowing she wouldn’t hear from Tyler Parish again unless she instigated another call. She was still thinking of him when the telephone rang and Rex Layton’s voice flowed across the wire. She smiled and leaned forward. “How may I help you, Mayor?”

  “Rex, Katie. Please call me Rex—and this is strictly an unofficial call. I understand there’s an excellent new chef cooking at Louie’s Back Yard these evenings and I’d like to take you to dinner if you’re free tonight.”

  Part of her wanted to blurt no. She had a plethora of problems to think about that needed her undivided attention. But another part of her verbalized deeper feelings. “How nice, Rex. I’d love to have dinner with you, but I’m warning you—I’m starving.”

  “I always take starving women to Louie’s. May I pick you up at your house around seven?”

  “That would be fine.”

  “I hear you’re investigating the Chitting case.”

  “News travels.” She straightened in her chair. “Who told you?”

  “I’ll reveal all over dinner, but I doubt you’ll be too surprised. See you then.”

  “Thanks, Rex.”

  After replacing the receiver, she stared dreamily at the telephone for a few seconds before she turned back to her work at hand. She made out a time sheet for the day, noting to whom she had talked and the gist of the conversation. Mac would want to see it when he returned, and she would give a copy to the Chitting family once she was off the case.

  Going home from the office Katie asked herself why she had accepted Rex’s invitation. She had promised herself after the divorce never to get involved with another man. Never, ever. She didn’t need men to make her life meaningful. But Rex fascinated her. Why would a man who could have his choice of Key West ladies notice her? It pleased her to be able to tell him she was starving. Sometimes facing her appetite helped her control it. She hadn’t seen her therapist for over a year, and her last contact with Overeaters Anonymous had been six months ago. She parked her convertible under the sea grape tree in front of the house and grinned at Diane who was standing in the doorway.

  “Did Rex reach you?”

  “How did you know?”

  “He called here, supposedly about a council meeting, then he casually mentioned that he’d tried your office and couldn’t get you. I told him to try again, that you usually checked in there before you came home for the day. Are you having dinner with him?”

  “You’re intuitive.”

  Diane opened the door for her and followed her to the staircase. “You’ll make a scintillating couple.”

  “You haven’t been playing matchmaker, have you?” Katie studied Diane for a moment. “You married types are never satisfied until everyone’s wearing a wedding band.”

  “Just want you to enjoy the finer things in life.” Diane walked on toward the kitchen. “Have fun. Rex is really a nice guy.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  She showered, brushed her hair until it gleamed, then put on fresh makeup. Standing in front of the armoire she debated what to wear. The cream-colored shirt and cropped top? The green shift? She decided on the green, feeling a bit guilty about so obviously playing up her eyes.

  When she was ready, she picked up her green sweater and went to the front veranda. She saw Rex drive up in his silver Corvette before he saw her. White silk slacks, white shirt, navy jacket. His hair fascinated her. It lay so thick that it seemed more like a pelt than hair. She watched the way he moved. Graceful. Lynxlike and very sure of himself. She stood as he approached the porch steps.

  “I like a woman who’s on time.”

  “Hunger does that to me. I warned you.”

  They drove across the island to the old mansion that had been turned into an elegant oceanside restaurant, and the hostess seated them on the torchlit terrace where they could watch moonlight filter through palm fronds and where waves frothed against the beach. A pianist inside the house played pop tunes from the forties, and the music served as background for the muted voices of the other diners.

  “It’s almost a cliché, isn’t it?” Rex asked after the hostess seated them. “I could buy a reproduction of this scene on a postcard at any shop on Front Street.”

  “But it’s a lovely cliché, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She inhaled the scent of gardenia and touched the waxy blossom floating in a crystal bowl at the center of their table. “That flower looks too perfect to be real.”

  “And so do you.”

  “Flattery, flattery.” She laughed, but she felt her face flush and she hoped he wouldn’t notice. Once the waiter had gone to bring their wine, she smiled at him as she enjoyed the scene at hand. “It’s hard to imagine a murder taking place on an island that offers so much beauty and loveliness.”

  “Even paradise has its flaws. Guess the loveliness tends to make the flaws all the more obscene.”

  Katie eased her sweater around her shoulders. “Who told you I was taking the Chitting case?”

  “Three guesses.”

  “Diane?”

  “No.”

  “Po?”

  “Guess again.”

  “Bubba?”

  “Right. So be warned. That guy works both sides of the street.”

  “Guess there’s no law against it. But in the future I’ll be even more circumspect about what I tell him.”

  “Do you really think you can uncover information the police have missed?”

  “Perhaps. Alexa’s dead and somebody killed her. Maybe the police gave up too soon.”

  Rex looked directly at her. “Are you suggesting that maybe it was to their advantage to go easy in their investigation?”

  A warning bell sounded in her mind. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Because drug money talks, that’s why. We both know that. Maybe some money changed hands and closed mouths.”

  “I’ll consider that theory. There are lots of things to think about.”

  “In a nice sort of way, you’re telling me to mind my own business, right?”

  “Of course not. I’ve only started working on the case, and there really are a lot of things to think about. I wish Mac were back.”

  “Any chance he’ll show soon?”

  “None. Enough about murder. Tell me about your work. How is the housing project coming along? Cayo Hueso? Isn’t that what it’s called?”

  He leaned back in his chair and she saw the familiar gesture of strong fingers raking through thick hair. Strong hands for that matter. It would take strong hands to kill someone with a conch shell. She forced her attention back to his words about the project.

  “Yes, Cayo Hueso—an archaic name for Key West. I think the project’s going to go in the near future, although I was worried fo
r a while.”

  “Had Alexa’s new will gone into effect, it could have made a big difference to you, couldn’t it? If fortified with big money, the Preservation Group might have had the clout to save the salt pond area.”

  “Can’t deny that. But there were other problems, too.”

  “Give me a for instance. I’m really not into all the intricate politics involved in city housing.”

  “For instance, Elizabeth Wright.” Rex sipped his wine then continued. “She’s head of the Florida Task Force on Key West Development and she manages the local Department of Community Affairs. Elizabeth’s decisions carry lots of weight both here and in Tallahassee.”

  She felt herself tense at the mention of Elizabeth’s name. Was Rex in love with that woman? She remembered the way Elizabeth had linked her arm through his at the buskerfest parade. “Is Elizabeth Wright for or against Cayo Hueso?”

  Rex delayed answering as the waiter approached.

  “The special tonight is blackened grouper served with broccoli tips in cheese sauce and your choice of wild rice, baked potato, or French fries. Will you need more time to study the menu?”

  “Katie?” Rex smiled. “What would you like?”

  “The grouper, please.”

  “Make it two,” Rex said. They gave their salad and potato preferences and resumed their conversation when the waiter left.

  “For a while I thought I had Elizabeth strongly on my side. We both agreed that Key West needs suitable housing for low-income wage earners. We both agreed that there’s a dearth of such housing. And we both agreed that a part of the old salt pond area would be an ideal location for such a project.”

  “So what happened?” Had he and Elizabeth been lovers? What did she care?

  “Believe it or not, I don’t know what happened.” Rex set his wineglass down. “She was almost ready to sign papers that would get the project going, then with no warning she called to tell me she had changed her mind. She presented all sorts of reasons why the project was unsuitable for the salt pond location or perhaps for any other location on this crowded island.”

  “When exactly did that call come?”

  “The Friday morning before Alexa was murdered. Reporters got hold of the information and it made banner news headlines that day—above the fold in both the Citizen and the Herald.”

  After the waiter served their dinners, Katie ate in silence for a few moments, letting cheese melt on her tongue, savoring its saltiness. Enough talk about Elizabeth Wright. A sense of urgency nibbled at her mind as she approached the question that had been nagging at her. “Rex, anyone who would profit by the non-implementation of Alexa’s second will could be a murder suspect.”

  “That’s true, I suppose.” He smiled at her. “Are you putting me on your list of those under suspicion?”

  “No.” She looked directly at him. “But where were you a week ago tonight?”

  He laughed, and the sound relieved the sudden tension that had grown between them. “I was presiding at a city council meeting at the courthouse. I’ve lots of witnesses. Diane Dade, for one. And I sat beside Samuel Addison. He’ll vouch that neither of us left the room before the meeting ended a little after eleven o’clock.”

  “Diane told me you both attended that meeting. I just wanted to hear it from you personally.” She’d check with Addison to see if he’d confirm Rex’s account about not having left the meeting.

  “I like a detective who’s thorough.”

  “I’m glad. I’ll check with Mr. Addison, then I’ll know for sure that you don’t belong on my list.”

  “Merely your suspect list, I hope.”

  “Right.” Katie grinned at him, flattered at his interest in her. Or his pretend interest. She wished she knew him better.

  “Tell me. How did you happen to become a detective?”

  “It’s a long story. Sure you’re interested?”

  “Of course. Tell all.” He took a sip of coffee. “Stop only if I yawn.”

  Katie sighed, wondering how much to tell. “Before I came to Key West, I taught school in Miami—middle-school English. Then one day a suicidal student brought a gun to class, fatally wounded a classmate, shot me, then killed himself.”

  “My God!” Rex laid his fork down and reached for her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry into old traumas.”

  “The boy was Mac McCartel’s son. Jon had been doing drugs, and Mac and I worked until we tracked down his supplier. I felt great satisfaction in that and I couldn’t bear the thought of returning to the classroom, so I accepted Mac’s offer to work with him here.”

  “I’m impressed.” He picked up his fork again. “You have a lot of personal courage.”

  She laughed. “Perhaps not as much as you think. Does a person who’s running away really have courage?”

  “It depends on circumstances, I suppose.”

  “In the past, when anyone asked what I taught, I always said, ‘kids.’ Kids came first and English came second. Want to know why?”

  “You haven’t seen me yawn, have you?”

  “Because of Miss Ludwig. She was my high-school English teacher. Miss Ludwig helped me get scholarships and campus jobs, and she wouldn’t let me quit college until I got my master’s degree in English. When I left the classroom, I felt I had let her down as well as myself.”

  “You really enjoyed teaching?”

  “Yes. I felt it was important to teach kids the fundamentals of grammar. A kid who grows up saying, ‘I seen’ and ‘he come’ and ‘I have did’ is saddled with a stigma that will hold him back for the rest of his life.”

  “Right.”

  “A student may hear that kind of talk at home, but a good teacher can show that student a better direction—a direction that can upgrade his life both socially and economically.”

  “You’re right, of course.”

  “I believed that. I still believe it. Yet I walked out of teaching. I don’t call that personal courage even though my job as a detective may be a dangerous one at times.”

  A tense silence grew between them until he spoke again. “There are all kinds of courage.”

  She regretted having sounded off. What would he think of her! She wished she didn’t care. But she did.

  “I didn’t mean to pry so deeply into your life, but I’m glad you’ve told me these things. Do you enjoy being a detective?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “Then that’s reason enough for continuing.”

  They finished their dinner then strolled along the water’s edge for a few minutes, watching the moonlight glint against the frothing waves. Rex took her hand in his strong grip, and she didn’t pull away until she had to stop and shake sand from her shoes. He held her elbow to help her keep her balance, then led her to a low seawall where they sat and watched the Atlantic.

  “Do you ever wonder where those waves have been?” he asked. “Think about it. They could have washed ashore in Africa or China or…”

  “You’ve a big imagination.”

  “I’m just a dreamer at heart.”

  “I suppose you believe in mermaids, too.”

  “The subject could be up for discussion. Nobody’s proved mermaids don’t exist. Just saying the word brings a picture to mind.”

  “That’s true.” She eased from the seawall. “It’s getting late, Rex, and I’m a working woman.”

  He held her hand again as they walked to his car and when they reached the Dade home, he strolled with her to the veranda. When he took her in his arms, she relaxed in his embrace, letting her body mold to his, enjoying the touch of his hand against her hair. The warmth of his lips against hers sent a thrill through her until she reluctantly pulled away.

  “Thanks for a great evening.”

  “I had a lovely time.” She squeezed his hand. “Goodnight.”

  Stepping inside quickly, she hurried upstairs, wondering if their date had really been all that lovely. It had been a rubber band of an evening with tensions stretching b
etween them, straining, relaxing, then straining again as they dodged around subjects that might snap the fragile elastic.

  What must he think of her? She had spent lots of time talking about her personal life without giving him much chance to tell her about his. Could a man forgive that? Had he known of her failed marriage, would it have put him off? She still felt the brush of his lips and she hoped he would call her again.

  NINE

  Katie lay staring at the ceiling a long time that night, thinking about Rex Layton, denying her attraction to him, then admitting that attraction but promising herself she would accept no more dates with him. She wouldn’t get involved. She wasn’t ready. It would be unfair for her to continue to see him. Then she laughed at herself. What made her think Rex would call her again, since he divided his time among a bevy of women? She heard the grandfather clock on the second floor strike two before she fell asleep.

  Palm fronds and mahogany branches lashing against her windows wakened Katie on Tuesday morning as another front howled through the Keys. Turning on her radio, she heard the weatherman stoically warn that there might be no warm-up before the weekend. Winter! But maybe the forecast was wrong. At times the weather ignored the predictor.

  She made herself a light breakfast then drove to the Monroe County library in the heart of Old Town. Here giant cacti flanked many of the frame Conch houses that lined the narrow streets, their steep tin roofs, second-story verandas, and gingerbread trim giving the tourists fresh subject matter for their cameras. She parked in front of the pale stucco building that looked as if it might have dropped from storybook land and hurried up a short flight of steps, stopping at the main desk just inside the front door. The room felt hot and stultifying, and the ever-present smell of books and bindings and inked pages blended with the sound of hushed voices. Library. She loved its protected velvet-bubble ambience.

  “Do you have past issues of the Key West Citizen?” she asked a page.

  “Yes, Ma’am.” The woman rose lethargically from her chair. “What dates, please?”

  How long had the Cayo Hueso dispute been going on? “The last month, please. I’ll start there.”